Sinking
by Audio Pineapple
Summary: A tale of self destruction [preStanford]
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters. I am not affiliated in any way, shape or form with anyone who does.

The motel room was too quiet. He'd turned the television on to try to drown out the silence but it hadn't helped. It felt like it was seeping into his skin, burrowing into his veins like poison. He reached into his school bag, pulling out a beer that he had hidden and took the top off, drinking some of it and managing not to spit it out like he had done in his first attempt. He swallowed his mouthful, regretting that the motel did not have so much as a mini-fridge when he heard footsteps outside. He stashed the beer back into his bag, wedging it in-between a book about the American Revolution and one about geometry so that it wouldn't spill and stain his work. He grabbed a dagger that lay near him and stood up from his chair, ready to attack if he needed to.

A few seconds later Dean and John burst in, huge smiles across their faces. Dean's shirt, brand new only the month before was now covered in blood and Sam felt his heart leap into his throat, "Dean? Are you hurt? What happened?" His voice came out childish with fear.

They both looked at him and laughed. "I'm fine. It's that demon that ain't."

John patted Dean on the shoulder, going over to the television and turning it off, giving a reproachful glance to Sam. "You shouldn't have it on that loud. You'll get the motel staff in here and they might find the weapons."

"Why couldn't I come as well?"

"You're not old enough," this time it was Dean who provided the answer. Every time that they came back from a hunt he was again excluded from he would be given the excuse that he was too young, but he had been hunting for years. Recently however he had been left at the motel room or in the car more and more.

"I'm fifteen."

"Not old enough." Dean was stripping off his shirt, picking another out of his bag while John looked in the meagre food supplies to find something to eat and Sam sat back down into the chair, trying to decide what the real reason that they didn't want him coming along was.

Whenever he thought about it he usually managed to narrow it down to three things; Dean was dad's favourite and he wasn't welcome in the family, he wasn't a good enough hunter and therefore a failure or he put too much emphasis on school work and this was his punishment.

"You done your homework?" He was surprised when Dean asked him and decided that this time it must have been the third option. He felt somewhat annoyed that he had in fact done all of his homework, wondering if he had left it and handed the various essays in late that he would be deemed worthy to join in the hunts that had almost become a nightly occurrence. It had been bad enough when Dean was in High School as well but now that he was nineteen he didn't have to worry about people noticing him missing school and had chosen to leave, at least doubling the amount of nights he and John went missing.

"Yeah, I did them."

"Good."

John had found himself something to eat and threw tins at Dean and Sam to make their own food. He settled himself onto one of the beds and began to eat. Sam stood up, grabbing onto his bag as he headed away from them in the direction of the bathroom.

Dean laughed, already opening his can; "you do your homework in the bathroom now?"

Sam looked down to his bag and what Dean expected to be in there; "yeah. Its quieter, helps me to relax."

Dean shrugged and Sam walked into the bathroom, sitting down and drinking the rest of the bottle, feeling the warmth of the alcohol spreading throughout his body, making him feel as though he wasn't completely empty.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been ten minutes since he'd got home from school to find the motel room in tatters. Newspaper clippings were still strewn across the sheets, the floor and the table, a couple of weapons were left unattended in the middle of the floor and John was trying his hardest to manage to scream without getting people checking that they were okay.

"What if a cleaner had come in?"

Sam felt the familiar twisting in his gut, the anger overwhelming him and he couldn't help himself from answering the accusation; "like anybody ever bothered to clean this dump."

"Don't raise your voice to me," his upper lip had begun to curl and Sam could almost hear him snarling underneath his breath.

He shot a look at Dean, standing next to the door, staring at them incredulously before sighing, he knew he would never win an argument so there wasn't any point in trying to, "I'm sorry sir."

John took the victory smirking, "I should think so; Dean would never have been so irresponsible."

"Yes sir."

"Did you finish your homework yet?"

Sam paused, feeling the flinching inside him that was trying to force him to argue again, he'd been practically jumped on the moment he'd walked into the room; his school bag was still lying unopened on his bed, "no sir."

"Get a move on." John picked up some of the newspapers, storming out of the room and heading for the car.

Sam knelt down onto the floor, trying to organise the remaining papers and moving the weapons back to their hidden place.

"I'm sorry Sammy."

"My name's Sam," his voice came out sterner than he had meant it to but he couldn't help it, he was too angry with Dean to pretend to be nice.

"I'll tell dad that I left the weapons out…"

"He wouldn't believe you anyway. Then he'd scream at me for forcing you to lie to protect me. So just leave it. Go somewhere else for a while." He watched Dean leave and finished cleaning before getting a book out of his bag. He sighed, throwing it as far across the room as he could manage, he wasn't in the mood to do school work. Standing up and locking the door he riffled underneath his bed to pull out the bears he'd hidden the night before. He drank them, barely bothering to savour the taste in his rush to get to the end result.

He stashed the one remaining can back under his bed at hearing a banging at the door, followed by Dean's irritated demands to be allowed in. Sam opened the door, finding it hard to remain upright without either fainting or vomiting and was surprised when he was yanked out and the door shut behind him. "Come on, dad's got a breakthrough. You're coming on the hunt."


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing he was aware of was a loud screeching noise jolting him out of his haze and Sam found himself pausing, his brain desperately searching his memory to work out what he was hearing.

"Sammy look out!" Dean's voice; he was able to recognise that. "Sammy!" This time it was intertwined with the screeching and he froze again, he knew that it had to mean something, it was just a matter of figuring out what…

His vision blurred as he felt himself being thrown backwards, colliding hard against something and crying out in pain as heat pummelled through the inside of his arm.

"Sam?"

"Huh? What? I'm awake…" He blinked quickly a few times, seeing Dean crouched down in front of him.

"His arms bleeding pretty bad."

Sam looked down at the arm that Dean was tentatively holding onto, there was a deep claw mark along the outside of it; "wow, do you think that hurts?"

"You can't feel it?"

"Not really."

"He okay?" The confusion grew as John came into view, the worry far less evident on his face than was on Dean's. Suddenly anger seemed to flare in the pit of his stomach, John should be worried, he should show that he cared; he should actually be a father.

"I'm fine," he was still lucid enough to realise that he shouldn't argue, even though he wanted to. He felt Dean lifting him up by his uninjured arm and he struggled to his feet, the world spinning around him. "Are we going back to the motel now?"

Dean laughed, cutting himself off abruptly at a reproachful look from John, "yeah we're going back to the motel."

Sam winced through the pain as he was helped into the car, his cut scraping across the seat. He looked at the arm, confused for a moment about how he had hurt it, "what happened?"

"You went hunting," John got into the driving seat, his voice cold, "and you let the monster escape…"

"Dad!" Dean's voice was strained, obviously desperate to avoid another argument.

"Hey! I'm a fucking good hunter."

"…Sam?"

"What did you just say to me?"

"I said that I'm a fucking good hunter. I'm just as good as Dean! Why is it always him who gets the praise when the monster dies and me who gets blamed when it survives?"

"Because," John's hands were shaking on the steering wheel as he pulled away, obviously having trouble keeping calm, "Dean has never stood still and waited for one to attack him! So don't tell me that you're a good hunter! And don't swear at me again!"

"Dad, let's just get back to the motel. He's obviously sick; he's not up to arguing."

John hissed outwardly through his teeth but set off driving anyway; "fine, but I'm not the one who's stitching him up."


End file.
